


if memories are shadows (we'd best not waste the light)

by gemmamalo



Series: Forget-Me-Not [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Memory Related, Vomiting, also like, but this isn't the end, i call it angst with a happy ending, married reddie, part 2 coming up motherfuckers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 19:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemmamalo/pseuds/gemmamalo
Summary: Richie and Eddie have been married for four years. Eddie hates Richie's feet on the coffee table, Richie hates Eddie's driving, and they both hate the fact that every time they are apart for more than a day they begin to forget each other completely.





	if memories are shadows (we'd best not waste the light)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song "Forget Me Not" by Marianas Trench. 
> 
> My playlist for this fic: https://spoti.fi/2o4pjXW  
My playlist for Reddie overall: https://spoti.fi/35IR49f
> 
> Strap in, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

“So you’re married, huh?” 

The client was trying to make small talk, pointedly nodding at the wedding band on Eddie’s left hand.

Eddie laughed instinctively. “Yeah, I- uh,” he trailed off, twisting the ring, as he often did when nervous.

The other man didn’t seem to notice. “I just got married myself, about six months ago - second marriage, that is. How many years for you?”

Eddie couldn’t stop staring at the gold ring on his finger. “I’m not sure.”

“Ha! That’s what I used to answer, probably not a good sign. No wonder my ex left me… not to mention the current missus was then a mistress…”

Eddie groaned internally at the gross businessman in front of him, a man he had to play nice with but would rather yell at. 

His client was starting to notice his passivity in the conversation, hesitation seeping into his haughty voice as he asked his next inane question. 

“So, uh, what’s your wife’s name?”

Eddie stopped in his tracks. It was a complete mental block, like a brick wall in his mind. He knew he was married, _ happily _, but he couldn’t remember a single other detail of his partner’s identity. He could picture their apartment, back in New York. Their dog, a little Havanese that was inexplicably named Stanley despite being female.

But the entire person who he spent his life with was gone. 

This business trip had been too long - he’d been in Los Angeles for almost two weeks, despite initially being told it would last only five days.

Rather than answer, he opened his phone screen.

There he was.

It all came flooding back that moment, the thought that he could for one second forget Richie was like a blow to his system. But remembering Richie came with other knowledge - knowing that this wasn’t the first time this had happened. 

“Richie,” Eddie answered him plainly, finally making eye contact. “My husband is named Richie.”

The man - Jones, or Johnson, or some other name like that - glanced down at Eddie’s lockscreen - the photo wasn’t just Richie, it was the two of them, tangled and cute with their faces mashed together. Richie was selfie-obsessed, not for the sake of posting them, but for the sake of collecting terrible photos of Eddie to fawn over.

“Richie Tozier? That dude’s hilarious! I didn’t know he was gay…”

Eddie looked at the screen again, memorizing Richie’s face, his glasses, his hair. He took a deep breath and turned the screen off.

“Let’s get down to business, Mr. Jones.”

Richie’s phone buzzed with an alarm at 6:45 PM - _ Call Eddie in 15 minutes _. His obsessive husband had pre-programed all their communications on their joint calendar. Richie didn’t mind being another element in Eddie Kaspbrak’s schedule - he adored it. 

He was at home, feet up on the coffee table in their spacious New York loft, paid for by yet another Netflix special, their four-year-old Havanese perched on the back of the sofa like the cat Eddie trained her to be. 

He never got to put his feet on the table when Eddie was home. 

“_I put food on there! Who knows where your dirty feet have been!” _

Richie would simply smile, then, and remove his offensive socked feet, before sticking them somewhere better, like Eddie’s lap. 

Their apartment was like a shrine to their relationship. Pictures of the two of them - together, separate, old and young - were the main decor, covering all walls, shelves, and tables. There were notes, too, either stuck to various surfaces or longform, such as Eddie’s list for Richie on what to do and not to do every day to keep their home running smoothly. 

Richie knew it was easier to be in his position than Eddie’s right now. He was surrounded by their love, hardly even leaving the house since his husband had gone on this trip. 

Both of them realized long ago that the further they were from each other, and the longer, their memories would simply disappear. 

Even now, Richie was missing some details. He remembered that he was married, that Eddie was a risk analyst, currently away in Los Angeles. He knew they had been married for five years, and they had been inseparable since childhood.

But he couldn’t remember that childhood. He couldn’t remember when he and Eddie began dating, or any details of the town they grew up in.

When Eddie was there, it was all clear.It was as though they were sick when they were apart, but together they were each other’s antidotes.

He pulled his feet off the coffee table, standing up and padding over to one of their many bookshelves. 

Perusing the spines, he plucked one out at random.

_ Memories Summer 1989 _ _  
_It was Eddie’s handwriting. Just like all the others. 

Richie and Eddie worked hard to remember things, but even when they were together, some things were still fuzzy. They had begun, years ago, writing down every single thing they could recall about their childhoods - and each other. 

This volume was the most frequently added to, enough that it looked as though Eddie would have to separate the binder into two parts soon.

It still wasn’t enough, though. The few months covered by the file were still full of blank spots and uncertainties. They had even taken to the internet for researching, but nothing much could be found.

Richie couldn’t even remember the name _ Derry, Maine _ until he read it in this fucking volume.

His phone buzzed again. 7 PM - _ Call Eddie. _

And so he did.

The phone rang for a while, always causing a panic in Richie’s stomach. _ What if this is it. He’s forgotten me completely. Even my name, my face doesn’t remind him anymore. _ It was his biggest fear, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself. 

But Eddie picked up. 

“Hello?” Eddie asked, his tone neutral. 

“It’s Richie.”

“Ri..._ Richie _.” His voice melted as he realized. “Oh, Richie.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Richie sighed, finishing a thought Eddie hadn’t verbalized.

“I hate this. I fucking hate this. Are we defective? Why does this happen to both of us?” Eddie started ranting. They had both had tests, CAT scans and MRIs. They had seen neurologists, psychiatrists, Richie had even tried a hypnotist. No dice.

“It’s okay, baby. You remember now.” It was easier for Richie right now, and he knew it. Comforting Eddie was difficult over the phone, but it was important to keep his high-strung husband breathing normally.

“How’s your day going?” Richie asked. When Eddie was away, Richie never felt like joking.

Eddie made a little _ harumph _ but answered. “It’s fine. Dickass straight white male I’m dealing with kept asking me about _ my wife _ and I didn’t even realize… Are you taking those memory vitamins I got you?”

Richie was, even though he was certain they were bullshit. “Yes, Dr. K. Have you been out and about in the city? Seen the sights?” The questions were more bullshit, just Richie trying to force Eddie out of his mood.

“Yeah, I forgot I was married, took off my ring, and walked down the street to a gay club, hooked up with a twink or two… No, I haven’t done much. I’ve been working.”

“Damn, I was hoping that was true, because hashtag same,” Richie joked.

“Please don’t say hashtag out loud ever again,” Eddie said, but Richie could hear the smile that had crept onto his face. 

“Anything for you, baby.”

“Are you getting out of the house?” Eddie’s voice was strained; he knew the answer.

“No.” Richie didn’t leave the house when Eddie was away. 

Once, early in their marriage, when they hadn’t quite figured out the memory issue, he had. Eddie was away on another trip, and Richie promptly forgot everything about the man he had pledged his life to. Their home was not yet filled with love in the form of visual aids - they were freshly moved in, barely unpacking the pots and pans.

Eddie left, and that was it. He was gone. Richie was, despite the ring nagging at his finger, magically a bachelor. 

His husband didn’t blame him for those nights, not anymore, but he still blamed himself. 

“You’ll be fine, you know. I’ve put enough reminders in your phone to be just as annoying as if I was really there.” Now who was comforting who? Richie knew Eddie didn’t actually believe his own words, but this is how they got through it. This is how they always got through it.

Richie hung his head, dropping the phone away from his face for a moment as he sighed. “I’m not sure we can do this anymore.”

“Rich-?” Eddie’s voice was tinier than Richie had ever heard it, and it was heartbreaking to hear his confusion.

“I mean the trips. Being apart. Christ, Eddie, don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“It’s harder this time,” Eddie relented. He enjoyed his job, much as he usually hated the clients he worked with. But the travel was difficult. 

Richie had stopped touring, that was, unless Eddie was able to come with. He always sat his husband front row center, looking to him every few seconds to ground himself. You could see it if you watched the specials closely, which was the exact thing Eddie had been doing before bed the previous night.

“We’ll talk about it when I get home.” 

* * *

Richie had decided to drop out of school early, just a few months shy of graduation. The Losers had each tried to talk him out of it, in their own ways.

Nothing was going to convince him - at least, that’s what he told himself. Down, deep down in his soul he knew there was something, something he could barely speak into existence out of the fear tied so intrinsically to it. 

_ Eddie _. 

“_Shh _,” he told his heart, not that it listened. But the small boy, the one with the dark hair and big, tired eyes didn’t try to stop him - at least, not the way Richie needed him to. 

“Don’t be an idiot, Richie,” was the beginning of Eddie’s speech, followed by a recounting of statistics on the success of high school dropouts versus graduates, fast enough that Richie thought he might break the sound barrier. 

Richie didn’t really listen, instead taking in the actions of Eddie’s hands as they flew about, of his eyes, wide and passionate. He would miss this, he thought. Eddie cared about him in his own way, but it wasn’t the way Richie cared about Eddie. 

He had to leave. He had to get out of this town, despite Eddie, despite everything he had been through with his friends. The small town did nothing but suffocate him, hovering over his head like a dark cloud, ready to rain down hate if he looked at someone the wrong way.

So he left. His car was shitty but it was a car nonetheless, and the second he crossed the town line he felt a weight in his heart lift. He smiled to himself; he had made the right decision. 

He thought, at first, of Eddie. He wished his best friend was with him, and he daydreamed as he drove of the things they might do on a road trip. Maybe he would return to Derry sometime, maybe after graduation. He’d show up on that day, pull Eddie into his arms, and they would have one last magical summer before Eddie headed off the college. 

His car ran on fumes and his heart ran on that dream, hoping that being away and alone would increase his own comfort with himself, that going to a city would expose him to those like him.

Richie spent the night in his car. He had expected that, not having enough money to afford even the shittiest of shitty motels. His sleep was fitful, and he gave up in the early morning hours. 

But something was missing. It was like he was reaching out to something that was slipping helplessly out of his grip, or being pulled under by the tide.

He knew, somehow, that he was at a threshold. Go further, pursue what he set out for, and it was all gone behind him.; go back now, grab hold, and never let go.

He started the car and headed back to Derry.

He needed only to cross the town line again for everything to rush back - the town, the clown, the losers, and Eddie.

_ Eddie _.

He drove to the Kaspbrak residence, hopping out of the car with the keys still in the ignition. He banged a closed fist on the door - the Kaspbraks always locked their doors, unlike the Toziers, who never locked theirs - until it opened.

“Hell-_ oh _. I thought you left town.” Sonia Kaspbrak was always a ray of sunshine, but Richie didn’t have time to engage in snide small talk. 

“Is Eddie here?” He was out of breath, unsure if it was from the adrenaline of what he needed to do, or simply from the sprint from the car.

Sonia smiled tightly. “No. I don’t know where he is. My son doesn’t talk to me anymore, not since-”

Richie didn’t stay to listen, or, in true Richie fashion, talk back to the woman he held more contempt for than just about anyone in the world (except Ronald Reagan, that jelly bean loving fucker). He walked back to his car, ready to go well over the speed limit on his way to the next likely spot in his search - the clubhouse.

This time he turned the car off, but he threw the keys on the driver’s side seat - if anyone wanted to steal his shitty sedan, he wasn’t going to stop them. The car itself would do it for him, likely crumbling to pieces if someone turned the wheel even a smidge too roughly.

Richie practically threw himself down the ladder, landing on the floor of the clubhouse with a distinct _ thunk _ that sent dust flying.

“Richie!” 

There was a veritable chorus of his friends' voices, pleased and surprised to see him, but he didn’t care - or, he did, but not as much as he cared about-

“Eddie.” Richie made eye contact with the boy, still small despite the growth spurts he had experienced in the last few years, curled up in the hammock they used to share. They’d grown to big for that long ago, never daring to climb in together past the age of sixteen or so. That was Richie’s doing - by then, he knew how he felt, and close quarters like that was too much, even as a joke. Too much, too real.

But it no longer mattered to him if Eddie could sense the shame deep in his heart, because Richie had realized that the shame was nothing compared to the love. Richie thought leaving town would lessen the first of those, but instead it tried to steal the second from him, and he wasn’t having that. He could stand being without Eddie, but the way it felt, when his own memories seemed to be fading…

“Can you come out- um, come upstairs with me?” He said, not looking at any of his other friends, all of whom had stood stock-still in the pregnant pause. Stan had a slight smile on his face; he shared a knowing look with Bev.

“Okay,” Eddie said, untangling himself. He didn’t seem aware of the moment that surrounded them, the significance that was almost tangible in the early Spring air.

Maybe it was better that way.

They climbed up.

Richie pulled Eddie by his lithe arm, tanned by the summer sun. He didn’t make eye contact, not at first, just led the boy to a tree, far enough from the door that, hopefully, no one could hear, but close enough that if Eddie was gonna run, well, he could. Richie knew it was a possibility, but he no longer really cared. He wanted his emotions out in the open, and if his friends hated him for it, he’d just get right back in his car.

He’d forget about it, anyway. 

Eddie stomped his foot. “What is it, Richie, ‘cause I’m halfway through that new Captain Marvel graphic nov-”

Richie didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence, stepping forward to grab that little cute face in both hands. Eddie was wide-eyed but didn’t stop him.

Richie’s mouth met Eddie’s and for a moment neither moved, aware of the cosmic shift they had just allowed to occur. No one pulled away - that was as good as an invitation. As if on queue, both boys sunk into the kiss, lips moving, softly at first, then rougher. Richie reached his hands up into Eddie’s hair; Eddie moved his to Richie’s hips, pulling them closer to his own. The kiss was hungry, desperate. 

Richie was the first to detangle himself, lips parted as he looked down at the boy in front of him. Eddie’s freckled cheeks were flushed, his expression softer than Richie had ever seen before.

Richie resisted the natural urge to crack a joke, instead pressing his forehead to Eddie’s. 

“Eddie.” It was his favorite word, he found. Speaking out aloud did something to his belly, making those butterflies that lived there flutter like nothing else. He giggled, a sound he didn’t immediately realize he, Richie Tozier, could make. “How long?”

“I should be asking you the same thing. Anyway, I thought you left,” Eddie said in a whisper, a smart move, as at least one of their friends was likely eavesdropping.

“About that…” Richie started, unsure of how to explain what he had experienced. “Something weird happened. I left, and it was fine for a while, but…”

Eddie scanned Richie’s face with his big brown eyes. “What? What happened?”

And so Richie told him, to the best of his ability.

Eddie shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Did you hit your head? Have you had a concussion? You know, an untreated concussion can cause-”

“Shut up, Eddie,” Richie said.

Surprisingly, Eddie actually did.

“Everything that I forgot came back when I got back to Derry, it was like I just suddenly knew everything that was missing. And the funny thing is…. I don’t think I would have noticed that everything else was gone - this town, the Losers, my parents even - if not for… for you.” It was hard to get that last part out, that admittance of feelings, even though he had just spent a solid two minutes kissing Eddie. “Not that I knew it was you I was missing, I just… it was like my whole heart was empty.”

Eddie gulped. “Richie…”

Richie stood up straight, pulling his shoulders back. He had never been this serious before, because up until now, nothing had ever mattered this much. Not even the killer clown.

“I love you, Eddie. I’m not joking. I love you, and I’ve loved you for… for years. I think I first figured it out that summer,” he said, looking to the ground. “But I think it started before that, you know? It’s like I’ve been in love with you my whole life.”

He glanced at Eddie, now, unsure of what reaction he would get, but he discovered that a smile had crept across his crush’s face when he wasn’t looking. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Richie.”

They were inseparable after that, more than ever before. Richie still wanted to get out of Derry, but his first experience had been harrowing enough that he allowed Eddie to convince him to stay, at least until graduation. 

He lived in fear of it happening again - the forgetting. They didn’t tell the other Losers about it - Richie didn’t want to fuck up anyone else’s plans. 

They did, however, inform their friends that they were dating. Bev and Stan exchanged money over the reveal, and Ben almost cried, pulling everyone into the all-time greatest group hug anyone had ever had, ever.

“So are you not leaving Derry again?” Eddie asked him one day. They were tucked into the hammock, though Eddie feared for the structural stability, especially due to Richie’s six-foot stature. Richie didn’t care - the whole thing could come crashing down, but as long as he was holding Eddie, they’d be fine. He wanted to make up for the time they had lost due to his teenage awkwardness. Rather than squeezing in top-and-tail like when they were kids, they were snuggled together, Richie’s long arms wrapped around his boyfriend.

“I’m going wherever you’re going.” His words were sure, though in the pit of his stomach he still worried Eddie would reject him, break up with him and go start his own life in college, maybe even get a girlfriend his mother would approve of. Not that Sonia would ever approve of her Eddie-bear being with anyone but herself.

“Well, I don’t know about you, Richie, but I’m going to _ college _ , in _ New York _. Admissions are closed, and I don’t think I can just sneak my boyfriend into my dorm room every night.” Eddie’s voice had gone from harsh and factual in the beginning to soft and cracking at the end. 

Richie realized he needn’t have worried. “Okay. I’ll figure it out, I’ll work nearby, we’ll hang out all the time. We’ll get a place together.”

To his surprise, Eddie didn’t argue, instead closing his eyes and pressing closer into Richie’s chest. Richie stared down at the boy in his arms, his long eyelashes that rested against his cheeks, the rosebuds that were his lips.

_ Eddie. _

They were going to be just fine.

* * *

Eddie had only one more day in Los Angeles. One. More. Day.

It had been fifteen days since he had last seen his husband. That was a fact that he knew, but couldn’t really feel anymore. There was a picture on his phone, of a man with a square jaw and thick glasses, and Eddie knew he was married to him, but he didn’t know much more than the man’s name.

He still was getting calls, three times a day, on such a precise schedule that he knew he must have planned it himself, but the man on the other line was a stranger.

Richie Tozier. 

He had to google his own husband the day before. He was a comedian, self-described as “semi-retired” and only doing occasional shows in New York, where he lived. 

Where they lived.

This trip was absurdly long. More and more issues and details kept coming out of the woodwork, complicating Eddie’s job and frustrating him endlessly.

But it was over soon. He wondered how he would feel when he met his husband again. 

His phone vibrated. 

_ oh shit i forgot!!! check your videos on your phone. xoxo rich _

The message was immediately followed by another, full of seemingly random emojis. Eddie ignored that one, instead going straight to the videos in his photo app.

There were a few, but he assumed Richie was referring to the most recent, made sixteen days ago. It was Eddie’s own face, talking to the camera for three minutes.

He pressed on it.

> “Hey, me. If you’re watching this video, it means you’re away from home, and if you’re away from home, then you’ve forgotten all about Richie. Honestly, I kinda envy you-” 
> 
> “Hey!” came a voice from behind the camera, which Eddie recognized as Richie from their calls.
> 
> “Okay, okay. You’ve forgotten Richie. I’ve been where you are before, and I guess I will be again. Just know that that emptiness you feel will go away as soon as you’re with him again, I promise. It will all be over as soon as you’re together. So hold onto that, because I know you’re feeling like shit right now.” The version of himself on the video talked animatedly, throwing his hands around him as he spoke and frequently glancing behind the camera, a sly smile crossing his face when he did. “After you finish this video, go through the rest of the ones on his phone. They’re chronologically organized-”
> 
> “_Chronologically organized!_” Again, Richie’s voice popped up, just to repeat Eddie’s words in a sing-song tone.
> 
> “Shut the fuck up! Anyway, they’re basically a map through our marriage, so just… go right now. Watch them. Keep answering when Richie calls. You’ll be back together soon.”

The video ended. Eddie didn’t move, didn’t click on another video. 

He didn’t even realize that his face was wet. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, wiping away the tears.

How was it possible that the video was of himself, only a few days before? It seemed like something from an alternate reality. How was it he could feel so empty now, when he had clearly been so happy and full of love then?

His finger hovered over another video, apparently from the past New Year’s Eve celebration. The thumbnail showed a blurry Richie Tozier in a sparkly hat, looking grumpy.

Eddie smiled at it without really understanding why.

He loved this man, right? He didn’t feel it, not on the surface, but all the evidence was there. Even on Wikipedia.

> Richard Tozier (/ˈtoʊziər/ _ toh'zhûr _; born 7 March 1976)[1][2] is an American comedian, writer, and actor.
> 
> 1 Early life
> 
> 2 Career
> 
> 2.1 1999–2004: Early career
> 
> 2.2 2005–2013: Breakthrough and Stand-up career
> 
> 2.3 2014–present: Semi-retirement and Netflix specials
> 
> 3 Influences
> 
> 4 Personal life
> 
> Richie Tozier is openly bisexual.[32] Tozier married his longtime boyfriend Edward Kaspbrak, a risk analyst, in 2011.[33]

That was his name. Longtime boyfriend. Husband of three years.

He clicked the video.

It wasn’t a confessional, like the last one. This one was a real snapshot of their life together, Times Square on New Year’s. It sounded like a nightmare - and his video-self concurred.

“This is the grossest, most overpopulated, coldest- look! That woman has the fucking flu over there, Richie! She’s just coughing into the air, not even covering- stop snickering!” He was the one behind the camera this time, panning across the bellowing, pulsating crowd and the colors of the city.

The ball had yet to drop, and when the camera landed on Richie, video-Eddie stopped moving it. His husband was tall, reasonably unkempt, and absolutely endearing. 

“Countdown’s about to start, Eds. Shut the fuck up and enjoy the moment.” 

There was that grumpy face Eddie had seen in the still, but in context it wasn’t a look of upset. It was pure fondness, in Richie’s own way. Eddie’s heart ached as he watched.

Soon, the crowd was chanting in unison. The Swarovski crystal ball made it’s descent, and when it finally reached the bottom, video-Eddie didn’t stop filming, instead holding the camera out like a selfie, kissing his husband into the New Year. 

Eddie felt like a voyeur watching the intimate moment, even though it was his video, his face, his husband. He couldn’t believe he would ever be that public with his love.

_ i’m going to bed. see you tomorrow baby. it’ll all be okay then xxxxx rich _

Did this grown man always type like a thirteen year old girl? Eddie wondered if he usually found it weird, or if he’d think it cute or appropriate once he got his memories back.

That’s what the first video said. That he’d get his memories back tomorrow when he saw Richie again. He couldn’t quite comprehend it - would they come back slowly, or would it be like a dam break? Would everything just be there again, his entire life, like it had never disappeared in the first place?

He put the phone down, sending a simple thumbs up to Richie before he fell asleep.

He slept easily, which surprised him when he awoke; surely he should have been tossing and turning from his emotional turmoil? Or maybe that was exactly it, he exhausted himself.

Either way, he was six hours closer to feeling human again.

Richie was getting ready to leave the house for the first time in fifteen days, save for walking Stanley.

“Good girl,” Richie murmured to the dog running circles around his feet. “Daddy will be home soon.”

Since Eddie had left, all of Richie’s food had been delivered, and he’d hired a walker to take Stanley out each day. Lucky for him, Eddie had potty trained the dog to go on their balcony with whatever the dog equivalent of a litter box was. All Richie knew was that it was a rectangle of fake grass that his dog shit on.

He only had an hour before Eddie’s plane landed. He was prepared for it, in theory, but it was difficult to prepare for the emotional turmoil that would follow.

Leaving the house itself was a challenge - the fear consumed him, that he would walk out of the building and immediately forget what was happening, who he was going to see, and where. Eddie would be stuck at the airport, and eventually they would both forget each other completely.

He knew it was true. It had happened before.

* * *

Eventually, Richie and Eddie would come to refer to this period of their lives as their personal Dark Ages. It was the ten-year stretch in which they drifted too far apart to come back again. 

Eddie had just graduated from New York University with his Bachelor’s, and was looking into graduate programs to start his MBA. Richie was working at a cafe during the day and doing stand-up at night, as well as attending improv classes.

It was New York in the nineties.

“I think I’m done with this city, Rich,” Eddie said once, staring out the window at the traffic down below. They lived in a Greenwich Village walk-up, on the fifth floor. The apartment building was full of odd characters, and they were glad not to have roommates anymore.

They sometimes still told people they were just friends, best buddies who lived together and drank together and fucked together.

Except that last part.

New York was accepting, though not the safe haven Richie had once dreamed of. Sure, RENT was a great show (they had already seen it three times) and Stonewall was wild on a Saturday night, but he still couldn’t even consider holding hands with his boyfriend on the subway without being called a faggot, or just straight-up being murdered.

“Okay,” Richie said. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Philadelphia?” Eddie said, uncertain.

Richie nodded. “Ah, yes, the City of Brotherly Love.”

“I’m serious, Richie, UPenn has the best business school in the country-”

“Okay, Philadelphia.” It wasn’t sarcasm - he was immediately on board. Whatever Eddie wanted, he was on board. “Have you applied?”

“...Yeah.”

“And…?” 

“I got in.”

Richie jumped up and hugged his boyfriend, only slightly stung that Eddie went through the whole process without letting him know. “That’s great, babe!”

Eddie wasn’t hugging back, not the way he usually did. “Richie.”

Richie stopped in his tracks, letting go of Eddie to look him in the eye. “What is it?”

“How much longer can we keep doing this?”

“What?” Richie’s voice broke as he spoke. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not- fuck, I’m not breaking up with you,” Eddie stammered. “I’m just… thinking logically. The memory thing, Richie. You know what I’m talking about.”

“We have it under control.” They never seemed to forget where they lived, and they were never apart more than sixteen hours or so. Even if they started to fray at the edges, they hadn’t had a bad scare in at least a year. 

“I know, I know, but it’s not sustainable, Richie.”

“Don’t treat this like some project. Logic is the last thing-”

“Richie.” His voice was firm, but tears were beginning to well in the corners of his eyes. “What would you be doing, you know, if you weren’t stuck following me around all the time?”

“I’m not stuck following you around.”

“I know you’re passing up opportunities. I’ve heard the messages. There are agents looking to represent you, book you good gigs, getting you to support bigger names… and you’re not calling them back. I know you’re not.”

Richie stood up. “I don’t care about that shit, Eddie. You know I only want to be with you!”

“That’s not healthy, Rich! It’s not.” His face was scrunched up, and he looked smaller than he had in a long time. “I love you. But maybe… maybe we’re meant to forget. Maybe not forever, but… for a while.”

Tears fell from behind Richie’s thick glasses. He didn’t bother wiping them away. There was no point.

“That’s not how it works. We can’t take breaks. There’s no “a while”. The memories, they just float off, like a balloon. They don’t come back unless we’re together.”

“Richie-”

“I don’t want to forget you, Eds. I’ve done it before, too many times, and it’s worse than every other feeling.” He moved to where Eddie stood, unfolding his boyfriend’s crossed arms and taking his hands in his own. “If you want that, you _ really _ want that, tell me, and I’ll let you go. I’ll move to Chicago, and-”

“Chicago?”

Richie smiled. “Didn’t we just do this? Yeah, Eds, Chicago. I’ve been thinking about The Second City… it’s kinda becoming my dream. My second dream, after you.”

Eddie nodded, swallowing. “So. Chicago and Philadelphia.”

“I don’t have to- Eds, it was just an idea, I was throwing out a hypothetical. You love that shit.”

“No, Richie. It’s a good idea.”

“Eddie…”

“I’ll write myself a note, okay?” The tears were falling onto Eddie’s cheeks now, flushed pink. “I’ll write a note and I’ll put it in my wallet and, and- fuck, Richie.” He loosened his hands from Richie’s, but instead of backing away he threw them around the taller man.

“I don’t want this, and I know you don’t want this, but it just…”

“Feels right?” Richie murmured, his chin resting on top of Eddie’s head.

“It feels wrong. It feels so wrong, but it feels necessary.”

“Baby, we don’t have to do this,” Richie said, though he no longer felt he could convince him.

Eddie nuzzled into Richie’s chest. “I already told Wharton that I accepted the offer.”

Richie pulled away. 

“You what?”

Eddie looked up at him with those big, brown eyes. “I’m sorry. I just can’t stand being the reason why you’re stagnating, Richie. You have to go be the successful man I know you can be, and that just… isn’t in the cards if we’re together.”

Richie backed away from Eddie, finally wiping at his cheeks and eyes at the drying tears. His throat felt rubbed raw. “When’s all this happening then? When are you leaving?” _ Leaving me. _

“A week,” Eddie said.

Richie nodded. “Ah. And this has been in the works for…?” He paused, but looking at Eddie’s face made him no longer want the answer. He knew it would feel like a knife to the chest, whatever it was. “Nevermind.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that.” Richie didn’t want to get mean with Eddie, but he couldn’t help the way he felt. Betrayed. Abandoned. Forgotten.

Eddie moved out a week later. It was the worst week of either of their lives. They weren’t officially broken up, not yet, but every kiss was tight, withholding, and every touch was like an electric shock. 

They had sex the night before he left. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t discussed, it just happened. It was the first time in more than a week, longer than they had ever gone before - Richie thought he should have noticed long before Eddie and his conversation that something was off. He was too busy writing off every one of Eddie’s movements, excusing it all for the sake of love.

It wasn’t good. It was furtive, desperate, emotional yet detached. They were trying to poke a fire that had long since gone out. Richie cried during; Eddie cried after. 

It was something neither could wait to forget. 

If not for the forgetting, this wouldn’t be so hard. They could take a break, return to each other any time. Richie could go on a tour, Eddie could study anywhere he wanted. They wouldn’t have to be attached at the hip, suffocating each other out of fear.

_ It’s not your fault _ , he told himself. _ It’s not Eddie’s fault _. 

Neither slept, not really, but they both pretended that they did, wrapped up in each other for the last time in this bed, this apartment, this city. 

Richie had already booked a ticket to Chicago - there was no point staying in New York without Eddie. 

If he stayed in their apartment after Eddie moved it would probably take him longer to forget, and he didn’t want that. He wanted that band-aid ripped off. He needed to get out of here, to forget everything about Eddie, or it would eat him up from the inside out.

Eddie Kaspbrak had moved to Philadelphia five years ago, to get his Master of Business Administration in Finance, a thing he did due to having no clue what he actually wanted to do. Eventually, through trial and error and internships, he landed on a job that seemed to suit him perfectly.

Edward Kaspbrak, risk analyst. 

He was working for a good firm, making a decent salary, but his life, though perfect on paper, felt fruitless. He was missing something.

So he got a girlfriend. All of college, he wondered why he couldn’t remember having a single girlfriend, or going on any dates. It was fine though - there was a woman at work who was clearly interested in him, and he couldn’t come up with a logical reason not to date her.

It never felt completely right, but he decided it didn’t matter. It was a comfortable relationship. No challenges, no fights, no passion. 

With time, he realized he was dying inside. So he moved out of Philly - that had to be the reason, right? The city was getting to him, just like New York had, years ago. 

The firm had another branch in Los Angeles, so he put in for a transfer, and he got it. And so he moved, and Myra, too. They didn’t move together, though - she applied after he did, following him without his knowledge or consent.

He wondered if this was the passion they were lacking. If it was love. 

He had never told Myra he loved her. He hadn’t told anyone, as far as he remembered, but he felt like he knew the difference. He wasn’t in love.

But he said it anyway, eventually.

Richie Tozier had his face on a billboard. He couldn’t believe it, his ugly mug, glasses and all, plastered for every Chicagoan to see, right there on State Street.

Whatever. It was on a billboard, and his act was blowing up. His agent really saw something in him, and (out of pure, dumb luck) he somehow booked a job opening for Mitch Hedburg three years ago. One night only, but still - it was the same bill as Mitch fucking Hedburg.

It changed his career. Sure, he had gotten heckled more than ever before at that show, but he let the insults and jabs roll off his back like water. There were important people in that crowd last night, not to mention behind the curtain. 

He was headlining his own shows within the year.

Lately, though, he’d hit a stand-still. Writer’s block, he supposed it was, though he didn’t consider himself much of a writer. Whatever the term was, he hadn’t come up with any new material in months. _ Good _ new material? Maybe a year. 

He had resorted to using a ghostwriter. He couldn’t believe it. His career was taking off, but his mental state was going down the drain, accompanied by his talent.

Richie Tozier had his face a billboard and he felt like shit.

Eddie and Myra moved a few times over the next few years. She wanted to get married, and she made it obvious, but if Eddie was good enough at acting to pretend he was in love with her, he was good enough to pretend he didn’t pick up the hints - even when the hints are magazine cut-outs of engagement ring shops.

He didn’t know why he kept up the charade. 

They were on a business trip in Houston, just a one-night stay. He couldn’t even use work as a reprieve from his overbearing nature. 

He picked a Tex-Mex restaurant at random, downtown near their hotel, despite Myra’s protests that the food would be too spicy for him. 

He wanted to tell her to shut up, that he wasn’t delicate, that he could handle a fucking mild taco. He didn’t say any of it. He just doubled down, and for once in her life Myra gave in. 

It gave him more pleasure than the entire four years of their relationship combined.

After their meal, Myra left the tip and stepped off the go to the bathroom. Eddie quickly scanned the amount she left - two dollars on a fifty dollar meal. He dug through his own wallet to pad the amount, hiding a ten under the ones. The bill seemed to displace something in the back of the wallet, as a small piece of paper was now sticking up.

He pulled it out, expecting a long-forgotten receipt, but it wasn’t that. 

It was a name.

“Richie Tozier,” he whispered to himself. He stared at the words until the letters no longer looked like they were in the right order. 

“Eddie-Bear, move it!” Myra’s voice rang across the busy restaurant, and a few faces turned to look at him. He stuffed the paper back where it was and rushed over to her. “Coming, honey!”

Richie’s sexuality was an open secret, at least in his circle. He didn’t label himself, instead just accepting that he had a thing for small, brunette twinks, often on the feisty side. Though, when those were in short supply, he wasn’t opposed to other options.  
It was an inside joke with his friends - attractive waiters were pushed towards him, dates were had with everyone’s singular gay cousin, he magically scored invites to every popular gay club.

His manager wasn’t as accepting.

“Listen, Tozier, I’m not _ against _ gays, I just know you gotta think big. No studio wants a gay guy in their comedy.”

“Every fucking movie has gay guys in it, Dave,” Richie spat. He knew it was pointless. His manager wanted him to tone it down, to quell any distasteful rumors. As if being a comedian, especially the type of comedian Richie was, was a clean thing. Surely, people would be more turned off by his affinity for cocaine and weed than his interest in men, if they were going to be turned off by anything. (Richie told himself this, but he knew it wasn’t true. Audiences would quicker forgive a wife-beater or an anti-semite than a faggot.)

So he toned it down, at least in public. In private, his mental health suffered. 

Eddie tried to break up with Myra in 2005, but it didn’t work. Instead, they ended up engaged.

He received a phone call the next day. It was his mother’s neighbor - Sonia had passed away the day before.

Eddie decided not to go home for the funeral.

Myra was angered by that - his own mother! Not saying goodbye! What was he going to do if she died? 

They had never been close, he told her, but he knew that wasn’t the answer. 

Derry, Maine. That was the location on the caller ID. It was where he grew up, and he knew that - he knew it, right? - but just seeing the name instilled the deepest fear in him, dread far surpassing that which he felt for his own upcoming nuptials.

And those scared the shit out of him.

Turns out, public intoxication is not charming. His publicist, Katie, hated him more than ever (as he was certain she already hated him) after a particularly bad bender in 2004. 

This particular lapse in judgement was bad enough that his team held an intervention.

“Richie, you can’t keep doing this,” Katie said, eyes looking as sympathetic as she could make them. He figured she was faking - they all were, weren’t they?

He was still reeling, even though it was two days ago. He ended up in the hospital, stomach pumped and the whole shebang, and he didn’t really mind. It was a distraction, it was something new, it was almost fun - testing his limits.

Was that what he was doing? He couldn’t say he had tried to overdose on a combination of alcohol, cocaine, and antidepressants, but he had done it nonetheless. 

“I don’t _ keep _ doing this, Katie. It was just this one time, and from now on I’ll know not to mix alcohol and-”

“And nothing! You could have died, Tozier!” Dave shouted, waving his hands around. “I know you fucking hate all of us-” 

“I don’t hate you,” Richie muttered, looking at the floor.

“But we are always, _ always _doing what is best for you. That’s our collective fucking job, because our asses are on the line if we don’t! Don’t go killing yourself-”

“That’s enough, Dave.” Katie’s voice was soft as she rested her hand lightly on Dave’s hairy arm, calming his hurricane-like energy. 

_ She’s really pushing this whole sad thing _, Richie thought. Katie was a nice girl, a few years younger than Richie with shoulder-length red hair and blue-green eyes. He had hired her on the spot the first time they met - something about her just made him feel comfortable.

“Richie, what do you need us to do? Do you need to go to rehab, do you need to see a therapist? I’m not gonna let you do nothing, but I’ll give you the choice this time.”

He smiled. She was mothering him, this young girl was treating him like he was her own child. And he liked the way it felt.

“I think I just need to take a break.”

And so he did.

Myra bought Eddie a new wallet for Christmas 2006. He’d had the other the entire time they’d been dating, and before. 

“It’s real leather,” Eddie had said, “that’s why it’s lasted.”

“The seams are falling apart. It’s ratty. It’s old. It makes you look like a slob.”

And so he found himself cleaning out his old wallet on the living room coffee table on Christmas while his fiancée worked on an apple pie in the kitchen. Her family was coming over the next day, because Eddie made it known that he couldn’t handle the entire Wilkes clan on the actual day.

As neat as Eddie could be when he wanted, if left to his own devices he tended to be a bit of a slob. His wallet was stuffed full with old receipts and even a movie ticket stub or two.

Deep in the recesses, he found something else. As soon as he saw it, he remembered that he’d seen it before - not once, not twice, but he’d found it plenty of times, each time getting distracted and forgetting about it, putting back where it was. 

_ Richie Tozier _ read the slip of paper. For the first time, he was alone - well, mostly - and had the time to think about it, to examine the note. _ Richie Tozier _. He knew that name. 

For the first time, he realized the paper was actually folded - unfolding released more of the message, and more of the mystery. 

> _ Find Richie Tozier. 7/23/97 _

It was his own handwriting, telling him to find a man he had never heard of… pre-Millenium._  
_He stood, cautiously checking to see if Myra was watching him - she wasn’t, she was at the counter still, folding dough with heavily floured hands. 

His office was down the hallway, the only room in the house he had full control over. He sat at the desk, wiggling the mouse on his Legolas mousepad until his desktop screen came to life.

He double-clicked on the Firefox icon. The Google Doodle showed him two kangaroos holding a swaddled joey. “Come on,” he whispered to the screen. “You can do better than that.” It was barely even Christmassy, just some Australian jackasses.

He typed _ Richie Tozier _ into the search bar.

He scanned the results. _ Comedian. _He was telling himself to find a comedian? Maybe he had seen the guy perform back when he lived in New York and really enjoyed the show?

He clicked images, and he wasn’t sure what the somersaults in his belly meant. He didn’t recognize the man, not really, but something about him intrigued Eddie. 

Videos. He found some bootlegs, some illegally uploaded Comedy Central clips. It wasn’t his sort of humor, but something about Richie Tozier - his voice, his posture, his smile - led Eddie to rapturously watch more and more material, laughing along even when he didn’t find it funny.

He spent about thirty minutes on the short clips before his curiosity got the better of him, leading him back to the original web search.

**_Tozier returns to tour after absence_** read the first headline, and Eddie clicked immediately.

Apparently, the comedian had disappeared for a few weeks, canceling dates for “personal reasons”. His next show would be his first one back.

It was tomorrow, at the Laugh Factory in Chicago.

_ You could drive to Chicago _, said a voice in Eddie’s head. Eddie didn’t fully understand where it came from, but he agreed. He lived in Cleveland - it was a five-hour drive - so he could easily leave tomorrow morning to get there, provided tickets were still available.

“Wait, what?” he said to himself. His wife’s whole family were coming over tomorrow! It was the day after Christmas, for God’s sake! Why did he feel this need to go see a comedian he just discovered and barely liked?

The note. It was near his left hand on the desk, staring up at him. _ Find Richie Tozier _. 

He felt like he needed to listen to himself, and he sensed the version of himself who wrote that would endorse dropping everything to find this guy.

Eddie was set - he needed to do this, whatever this was. Going to see a comedy show. Breaking expectations. Living for himself.

Myra was going to kill him.

Richie was nervous, and when he was nervous, he wanted bourbon. No one would give him bourbon. 

He paced backstage, twiddling his thumbs as the minutes counted down. He’d taken six weeks off and still not written even a page of good material. He was, however, six weeks sober, a fact that was startlingly apparent at the moment.

He hadn’t gone on stage sober in at least ten years.

He heard a call - “one minute!” - and made his way to the curtain, ushered along by various eager young faces on the crew. He didn’t know their names.

How was it that he was happier than he had been in years, but still wholly empty inside?

“And go!” the man next to him said, one hand on his earpiece and one practically pushing him onstage.

He put on his best face and ambled forward. He smiled, lifted a hand in a slight wave, and settled next to the stool and cup of water at center stage.

It was all memorization, knowing when to inflect, pause, chuckle to himself. That really got the crowd going - his ability to laugh at his own jokes (not that they were his own) was seen as a benefit, not him being egotistic but relatable. “_Wow, this story must be funny if even he laughs while telling it!_” the crowd might think. They shouldn’t. It never happened.

He ran through the routine, hitting all the cues, getting the big laughs. 

His team had suggested he come out into the lobby after the show, sign autographs. He didn’t want to - “_It’s the fucking holidays, man, why are these people even here? They’re sadder than me, they’re not even getting paid." _\- but Katie insisted on it.

The impromptu (at least, to the crowd) meet-and-greet didn’t even set Richie behind a table or anything, just out in the open with the people - and he liked it. Maybe it was the time of year that made it better, but every interaction was easy and a little heartwarming. His material was trash, sure, but a lot of his fans were just happy to see him back.

He didn’t notice the man standing in the corner of the room, watching him, waiting for the crowd to die down and move along.

Richie was still bent over, signing someone’s program, when a voice came from above his head.

“Nice show, Trashmouth.”

“Thanks, man, I really-” He stopped, looking up. “Eddie?”

Eddie smiled. 

Richie barfed.

“Sorry- sorry!” Richie said, more directed at Eddie’s Gucci loafers than anything else.

Usually Eddie would freak out about something like this, but he didn’t care. He just kept smiling.

Halfway through the show he realized why he was there, why he left himself that note. Richie Tozier was the love of his life. He knew that, he’d always known that, and yet he’d made them seperate, forced them to live their lives apart. 

He’d had his reasons, back then, but ten years on it seemed stupid. The stupidest thing he’s ever done. Maybe now, though, they could put it all behind them - that is, if Richie stopped vomiting.

He helped Richie up from his doubled-over position. 

“Thanks guys! Drive home safe!” he called out to the crowd that remained, shock clear on their faces from what they had just seen. With an arm slung around Richie’s ribs for support, he helped him down a corridor, and with Richie’s guidance, to his dressing room.

He sat Richie on a chair and grabbed some tissues to wipe his mouth off with. 

“Thanks, man,” Richie muttered. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I came to find you,” Eddie whispered in return, kneeling at Richie’s lap. 

“You… you remembered?” his tone was one of disbelief.

Eddie chuckled. “No, I, uh…” He pulled the slip of paper from his pocket. “I always knew I needed to come back to you.”

“You wrote the note,” Richie said, remembering. There was a lot of remembering happening, and it was hitting him in waves. Seeing Eddie had been a tsunami - these were aftershocks.

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah, I was already on the train to Philly, already forgetting, so this was all I could think of, I guess.” 

Richie nodded. “Water.”

“What?”

“Get me a glass of water for my barf-mouth.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, standing up and looking around the room. He grabbed and empty glass, hopefully Richie’s. “I’ll, uh, run to the fountain.”

On his way, he considered everything he had just seen. 

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. “Richie hates me.”

That was both the most true and least true thing Eddie had ever said.

“So,” Richie said, sipping on the water. “You found the note and…?”

“I kinda just… packed up right away and came here. I mean, I googled you, and it told me-”

“Where are you living nowadays?” Richie interrupted. All he wanted was some alcohol and to forget the past ten years had ever happened.

“Cleveland. My, uh,” Eddie swallowed hard, “my fiancée’s family was coming over for dinner tonight but…” His words continued, but Richie had essentially blacked out as soon as he heard the word “fiancée”.

“You’re engaged?”

Eddie looked sheepish, red rising in his cheeks. “Yeah, her name is-”

“To a woman?!”

Eddie was fidgety, looking around the room, at the ceiling, the mirror, his own hands has he twiddled his thumbs as he sat on the uncomfortable sofa - anywhere but Richie. “Honestly, I’m not sure I’m engaged anymore. Her whole family - like, all of them - are over at our house right now for dinner, but I ran out at noon to drive five hours to see a comedy show. I also… kinda… packed. I didn’t even know what I was doing but I packed everything. It’s all in my car.” 

“Oh.” Richie didn’t know how to process that. Joy? Anger? Indifference? What emotion properly fit having his ex-boyfriend (whom he had completely forgotten) reappear in his life after ten years, apparently having left his female fiancée and ready to get back together, despite being the person who broke them up in the first place?

The thing was, Richie didn’t blame him for any of it. He almost wanted to, wished he could, as if that would make it easier.

Nothing could make this easier. 

“I get it if you don’t… don’t want me. After what I did,” Eddie said, head down like a child ready to be scolded. Who was this watered down version of Eddie? Richie barely recognized him.

“Shut up,” Richie said, and Eddie flinched. He softened his tone - maybe they couldn’t jump back in exactly where they had left off. “Don’t ever think I’d not want you.”

Eddie dropped his head into his hands. A small sob escaped. “I’m so sorry, Richie.”

Richie crossed the small dressing room in two strides. He cupped Eddie’s face in his hands, traced with his thumbs the lines that weren’t there ten years ago.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I thought it would be easier, that maybe it wouldn’t break this… this _ curse _ on us, but it would relieve the pain and pressure it caused. But it made it so much worse. It’s like I reverted to the version of me that my mother tried to create, I let fear and shame eat me up inside, and I don’t know if I can find my way back to who I was, before.”

Richie’s throat was tight. He’d spiraled, too, lost sight of who he was. Maybe what they had was a curse, haunting the both of them into distorted versions of who they could be. Maybe the only way to fight it was together.

“I’ll help you if you’ll help me,” Richie said, embracing Eddie. He rested his head on top of Eddie’s, another flood of emotion rushing back with that familiar position. He smiled through the tears. “I might barf again though.”

* * *

Eddie’s flight was delayed. Of course it was - it was JFK. Richie had been waiting at Terminal 8 for at least an hour and forty-five minutes, but he didn’t lose his focus - his eyes were trained on the security gate that Eddie should be walking through any moment now. 

He’d been here before - it was strange, waiting for someone he barely remembered. At this point, Eddie was like a figure in a book - he knew the facts, he knew his face, he knew every detail, but the warmth was gone. He lamented the fact that he felt this way, knowing Eddie felt even worse, having not spent the past two weeks in their home like Richie had.

All the notes and videos told Richie it would all come back in waves, more intense the longer they were apart.

Watching Eddie wander through with his carry-on and backpack brought the first wave, one akin to the joy of splashing in water as a child. He felt warm, buoyant, floating yet tethered. He also felt annoyance at Eddie’s overpacking, and his cheeks felt sore from smiling.

He moved forward, ready for Eddie to spot him - this was the tricky part.

Eddie glanced over the bags circling the carousel, trying to pick his black suitcase out of the lineup of black suitcases. Richie kept his distance, to a point. He wasn’t a patient man, in the least, but spooking his husband was a very bad idea.

When Eddie finally turned, he promptly dropped the suitcase he had just picked up, the hard plastic of it creating a loud bang as it hit the floor. His rolling carry-on, too, slipped from his grasp, and Richie feared perhaps the wheel broke as it crashed onto the linoleum.

“Richie,” Eddie gasped, dropping to his knees. 

He couldn’t think, only feel.

Richie’s arm around his waist, lifting him up. The sound of his suitcase’s wheels, rolling behind them. The blue-grey carpet beneath his feet, blurry, unfocused as his eyes filled with tears. The tears themselves, rolling down his cheeks, hot and then cold, finding their way into his mouth, the salt spreading across his tongue.

Richie messaged the Uber to roll around front, making a comment about the fee that the delayed flight would incur. 

Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, his heart thumping against his chest. Fuck, did it ever feel like this before? His brain was being forced to reconcile the past two weeks with the past ten years, and the result was akin and getting punched in the gut repeatedly by his own shadow.

Give or take.

He found himself in the backseat of the car, not quite remembering getting in, only now realizing his head was in Richie’s lap, his husbands warm, large hand rubbing circles in his upper back.

He listened more intently to the murmurings coming from above, as everything cleared up in his head. 

“Don’t worry baby, we’ll be home soon.”

Eddie groaned and attempted to sit up, but Richie kept him in place.

“You’re pretty fucked up right now, Eds. It’s worse this time, right?” 

Eddie nodded, tears still streaming as his thoughts rushed in his mind, like a dam had been opened. It wasn’t so much the memories themselves, but the emotional overload they came with. He was going through every stage of grief, every moment of joy and happiness and ecstasy, and everything in between. His brain felt as though it might explode from the enormity of it all, and he held onto Richie’s legs for dear life.

“This is like thirty migraines on top of each other,” Eddie muttered. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure the people taking pictures won’t send them to People magazine this time.”

“What?!” 

“Shh, Eds. Sorry. I won’t joke for at least another hour… Celebrities, they’re just like us! They have gay breakdowns at baggage claims, too!”

“Shut up, Richie.”

Richie squeezed his shoulder. “You’re sounding more like yourself already.”

“So what’s coming back?” Richie asked, once Eddie was snuggled on the couch, blankets around him like a cocoon. He looked like a child, which made Richie smile, despite the fact that he couldn’t exactly remember Eddie as a child.

“Hmm,” Eddie started, closing his eyes. “Random stuff, mostly. I’m just glad the emotional rollercoaster is over, for the most part. It’s like, I remember that I love you, but I don’t remember much about our actual lives. Weirdly opposite to how I felt approximately six hours ago.”

Richie ordered takeout from a Polish place they knew - Eddie always had a hankering for pierogi after a long day.

“This song keeps popping into my head,” Eddie said, biting into one of the dumplings, humming the tune. Stanley was between the two of them, happy to have her other daddy home. 

Richie recognized the song immediately, his breathing quickened, his ears alert.

Eddie swallowed. “_Remember the time you drove all night _ ,” he softly sang, “_just to meet me in the morning _. You know that song, right?”

Richie nodded. “Yeah, baby. That’s our… we danced to that. At the wedding.”

Eddie leaned his head back. “Oh, that’s right. But you did that, you know. Drove all night to meet me in the morning… back in high school, remember? The first time you realized this all happened.”

Richie pondered that. “Yeah, I… I can’t believe I forgot that.”

“I guess you picked the right song,” Eddie said, a smile creeping across his face.

Richie laughed. “Actually, as I remember it, you picked the song.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.” His hand ran absentmindedly through Richie’s hair, combing and tugging and petting back down.

Richie tossed a decorative pillow at his husband. “After you came to my show. When we drove to Cleveland to get your shit.” 

“Ah yes, the preamble to the most awkward hour of my life.”

“And mine! I had this mix playing on the way, and when that song came on you just listened in silence the whole time. It’s probably the longest you’ve ever shut up in your life.” 

“Hey!” 

“At the end you said it sounded like a first dance at a wedding, and I know at the time you were probably still thinking about your engagement to Myra, but-”

“I wasn’t.” Eddie’s jaw was clenched tight.

Richie turned to Eddie. “No?”

“It was always you, Richie. I would have never listened to a song like that and thought of anyone but you.” He ran a finger down his husband’s cheek. He liked the feeling of Richie’s stubble, rough hairs on soft skin. “You have to know that.”

They headed to bed early that night, exhausted from the day’s events, ready for the weekend (though Richie had truly done nothing for over two weeks, he was still exhausted). 

“It’s funny,” Richie started, about to say something that was not at all funny, “you haven’t really been gone that long before. We haven’t been apart for more than a week since 2007.”

Eddie spat out his toothpaste. “What’s really funny is how it felt _ so much worse _ coming back after two weeks than it did after ten years.”

The bedroom was decently sized, with their king bed looking particularly inviting with its smooth silk sheets, as well as a mirrored wall of closets on one side and a glass sliding door on the other, leading to both their balcony and a beautiful view of the city. They were gross enough of a couple that they not only had giant mirrors in their room, they also had a gigantic photo of themselves blown up over the headboard. 

Stanley had her own bed in the room, a miniature carbon copy of her fathers’, but prefered to use her stairs to sleep between the two men. 

The dog was three, and Eddie still had trouble adjusting to that at times.

Eddie’s skincare routine usually took thirty minutes, but he was tired enough to cut out a few of the serums and masks, getting it down to ten before he crawled into bed, pressing his entire body onto Richie as though they might absorb each other if they got close enough (but in a good way).

Richie slung an arm over Eddie, the other scrolling through his phone.

Eddie snuck a peek, while simultaneously pretending to not care at all. Richie saw through this, as he always did.

“I haven’t seen anything about it.” 

Eddie sighed, relieved. He didn’t need anyone at work seeing his public breakdown.

Minutes passed in silence. Eddie tried to drift off, but his mind wouldn’t shut up. 

“Richie?”

“Mmhmm?” His husband answered, still looking at his phone.

Eddie swallowed. “I think you’re right.”

Richie lowered the phone. “I don’t think you’ve ever said that before.”

“I don’t think we can do this anymore.”

“What?” Richie answered, his voice breaking like a teenager. “What do you mean?”

“Fuck, Richie, not- I mean, being apart. Work trips.” He felt Richie release a breath next to him. “They’re not meant to last that long, but even three days, it’s not… it’s hell,” Eddie spluttered, his hands erratic in their movements.

“Eds, baby, that’s your decision, and I’m not gonna…” Richie faded off. “Do you want to talk about this tomorrow?”

“No, I don’t. Richie…” he took a deep breath, gearing up for a classic Kaspbrak rapid-fire release. “It's like I never actually slept a night in my life without you. I didn't even realize what was deficient, lacking, until I gained it back. I spent 10 years awake every night, longing to be in your arms and not even knowing it. I just did it for another two weeks. And now I'm here, with you, and the thought of ever sleeping without you again is as terrifying as death itself."

He was out of breath.

Richie kissed him, and then he was more out of breath. 

“Whatever you need, baby, we can do.”

Eddie smiled, tears coyly hanging in the corners of his brown eyes. “I think I need time off.”

“You want to be my house husband?” Richie joked.

“You’re already a house husband, so I think we’d just be…”

“Sad old gays who don’t leave their apartment?”

Eddie pushed his shoulder into Richie’s side. “I don’t want to be sad. I’ll just be an old gay.”

“Okay, old gays. Old gays and their dog.”

“Hmm,” Eddie murmured, already falling asleep.

He awoke to the smell of breakfast. Richie didn’t like to cook, but when he did, it was surprisingly good. 

Eggs, bacon, pancakes. The coffee was from Eddie’s favorite shop, the bagels from his favorite deli.

“Someone’s been busy,” he said as he wandered in, robe tied and slippers on. Clothes were for the weak, not the weekend.

Richie smiled, wide as Eddie had ever seen it. “There’s my sleepyhead!” He held out the coffee cup and pulled out a chair for Eddie at the table. 

“Wow, it’s a veritable smorgasbord up in here,” he said, surveying the plates arranged across the table. “Thank you, honey.”

“Anything for you, baby,” Richie said, pouring syrup onto the pancake on Eddie’s plate.

He sat at the side of the table to Eddie’s right, grabbing a bagel and lox. His other hand grabbed Eddie’s fingers and played with them.

“I’m using those!”

“Nope,” Richie said, his tone playful. “They’re in my custody now.” He linked their fingers together. 

“I guess I have to learn how to eat with just my left hand,” Eddie responded.

Richie chuckled. “You’re pretty good with that hand… I’m sure it won’t be hard.”

Eddie pretended to pull away. “Ew, just when I thought you were cute.”

“Aw, baby, I can get so much dirtier than that…”

“After breakfast.”

“After breakfast,” Richie repeated, smirking.

So they finished breakfast, and they finished After Breakfast, and after After Breakfast Richie headed back to the kitchen.

“Brownies.”

It was all he said, and Eddie understood. Fuck, he needed that.

While Richie baked, Eddie sat in his office, structuring the message he would be sending to his superiors later that day: he was going on sabbatical. Six months, at least. Starting immediately (he realized that if they did, in fact, fire him for that part, he didn’t really care). It was a final anxiety he needed to deal with before he could fully relax.

And he needed to relax.

He looked at the pictures on his desk, a roadmap of their relationship. This was why he was doing this, the feeling he had in his belly (more of a belly now than it had been before - middle age wasn’t just approaching, it was here) when he looked at the picture of them on the boardwalk at the Jersey Shore, holding ice creams and pulling cheesy get sincere smiles for the camera. 

Vacations were difficult, as Richie often got stopped and asked for pictures and autographs, but the energy at the shore, all the kids laughing and playing games, couples winning toys for each other, the smell of funnel cake and the beach, the two of them screaming back at the tram car as it yelled at them, it made it worth it. 

It was those things that made him feel like a real person, even more than the picture next to it, their wedding photo. It was beautiful, sure, and expensive as hell, all the flowers and the suits and the venue, _ God, the venue _.

The guest list wasn’t half-bad, being that most of them were rich as hell and the Tozier-Kaspbrak Registry was, in Richie’s words, “bangin’”.

It just always felt like something was missing. His parents were dead, and Richie’s too, his father having passed when they were still in New York during Eddie’s college days, and his mother only a few years prior. 

They didn’t really have particularly close friends, either. Richie’s best man was a comedian he had done a tour with a few years back and often went out with, but Steve was far from his best friend. Eddie, too, didn’t socialize much outside work and Richie, choosing the coworker he hated the least. He had considered asking his own boss, in hopes of earning brownie points, but Richie kept calling him a ‘teacher’s pet’ in the most snivelling way possible, and he couldn’t deal with hearing that for the rest of the planning.

Everything was perfect, but when Eddie looked at the photos, it was like it was another life, someone else’s party.  
That’s all it was, a party for those who attended. Richie and Eddie had already been married six months by the time they had the wedding, having tied the knot in a courtroom on July 24th, 2011. The wedding itself felt like something they needed to do for the sake of everyone around them who wanted to attend a Rich Gay New York Wedding.

Eddie sometimes wished they hadn’t - not the marriage, of course, he had never regretted that, but the performance of it all.

That’s why he also had another picture, one that someone took on the steps outside the courthouse. It was the first day that same-sex marriage was legal in New York, after a long fight, and they lined up with everyone else to get hitched.

There were couples there who had been together for fifty years, some only two or three. When others asked, Richie and Eddie just said “our whole lives, give or take”. It had been four years since the Dark Ages, and they preferred to pretend those years simply did not exist (a practice which only works from time to time; it’s rather hard to truly purge a decade from your memory, and not always worth it).

They were kissing in the picture, in front of God and the state and everyone. Richie had on a blazer over his graphic t-shirt, showing that rainbow cat meme from the Internet. Eddie never really understood that shit but he said Richie could wear whatever he wanted, all that mattered was the fact that they could finally, in the eyes of the law, call themselves married.

Richie finished off the look with pajama pants and Uggs.

Eddie wore the suit he had bought for his canceled wedding, the image of a perfect groom, with added bridal veil (someone in the crowd had given it to him after their own ceremony; he passed it on after his).

He’d never really felt comfortable in his sexuality. He knew it was dumb (it’s not dumb) but he couldn’t help it, the shame bred into him by his parents, his school, his town. He’d been in love with Richie as long as he had known him, started dating him when he was seventeen, but it still didn’t quell the feelings deep within, that he was wrong, sinful, hell-bound.

He didn’t feel that way that day, surrounded by love and acceptance. Sure, there were protesters of various denominations, but their taunts couldn’t find a foothold in his psyche that day. 

Richie, actually, out of the frame of the picture, was flipping off some particularly vile picketers.

_ He’s always been braver than me _, Eddie thought.

The wedding was fine. The reception, too, was great. But he didn’t have that same feeling. With all eyes on him as he walked down the aisle, hand in hand with the love of his life, he didn’t feel right. He just wanted to be with Richie, no one else there.

Still staring at the photos, he dialed the office number, getting his message out, short and sweet. His boss protested at first, but relented - Eddie was up to date on all the policies, he wasn’t an employee they wanted to lose, and best of all, he knew how to get what he wanted. 

When the call finally ended, he wished he felt more relieved than he did. In his heart of hearts, he knew this sabbatical was a band-aid on a much larger problem, one he couldn’t begin to comprehend by himself. He was just glad he wasn’t by himself - he had Richie, and they could work on this together, figure out what this curse was and why it affected them like this.

He looked at the pictures again, his mind traveling from the boardwalk, to the 2013 Emmy party (Richie didn’t win _ and _ he couldn’t drink. Eddie was in hell that evening), to that Halloween where they dressed as peanut butter and jelly (Eddie’s choice), and the one where they were dressed as sexy Garfield and Jon (Richie’s choice). And then, again, to their first wedding, Uggs and all, to this past year's GLAAD awards, to their second wedding, the one with the party and the dance.

Their first dance was the only time that night when he felt like himself, head buried in Richie’s chest as they slowly swayed in the center of the dancefloor. His eyes were closed - he could finally pretend no one was there, just him and Richie, the way it had always been, as long as he could remember.

The way it would always be, as long as he could remember _ him _.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!! Shout out to my Betas and my Discord group 💛💛
> 
> If you liked it, please leave a comment below! If you have any questions, constructive criticism, or find any errors, you can direct them to my askbox on tumblr @ CylonBarnes.
> 
> There will be a follow-up coming out in the next few weeks.


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